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Book and Complete Outfit For Sixty 
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There is "Fun" in These Experiments: 

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Goes Over a Bridge.— Electricity Carries a Lantern.— And 40 Others. 




The OUTFIT contains 20 different articles. 
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A. FLANA(jAN, 



GltlGAGO 



Story Composition 




BY f 

SHERWIN CODY 

Author of "How to Write Fiction," "In the Heart 
of the Hills,-' etc. 



«> 



V 



CHICAGO: 
A. FLANAGAN, PUBLISH 
1897 







^ 






# 



L0431 



Copyright, 1897, 

BY 

A. Flanagan. 



PREFACE. 



IN the fall of 1896 I was invited to act as one of the judges 
in the annual Christmas story competition conducted 
by The Chicago Record for the school children of Chicago. 
After the contest was finished I contributed to the Record 
two articles on "Story- writing as a School Exercise," which 
were subsequently reprinted by the Record for the benefit 
of the teachers interested in its contest. With these arti- 
cles as a nucleus I have endeavored to prepare an exhaustive 
series of exercises in story-composition which will not only 
suggest methods of story writing, but also serve as a guide 
and stimulus in the collection of original material for 
fiction. 

As an exercise in school composition, the value of story- 
writing has never been appreciated. Not only does it call 
forth the most varied possible use of the English language 
and teach flexibility and command of expression, but it 
stimulates close observation and furnishes the only practi- 
cable opportunity for the study and discussion of human 
motives and passions — indeed, the whole of the emotional 
side of life. Human emotion, though one of the most deeply 
interesting and important topics of human thought, is too 
delicate and too complicated for any systematic study in 
schools; but story-writing, treated primarily as the best 
possible exercise in English composition, gives an incidental 
opportunity for a vast amount of extremely fascinating and 
useful instruction regarding emotion on the part of the 
teacher. 

SHERWIN CODY. 



CONTENTS. 

Introduction. 
I. Story Writing as an Exercise in Composition. 
II. The Practical Construction of a Snake Story. 

III. The Art of Description. 

IV. Plot-Construction. Imagination. 
V. Dialogue. 

VI. Characterization. 

VII. Sentiment. 

VIII. The IyOVE Story. 

IX. Fancy and Invention. 

X. The Complete Story. 



INTRODUCTION. 



11 7TANY of the young people who tried for The 
Chicago Record's Christmas prizes have no 
doubt been asking themselves such questions as 
these: " Why didn't my story win a brevet of author- 
ship?" Or, if a brevet was won, " Why didn't my 
story win a prize?" Or, perhaps, if a prize was 
won, " Why can't I write stories for the magazines?" 
I had the pleasure of reading a large number of the 
stories submitted, successful and otherwise, and I felt 
that some of the older writers might very well hope 
some day to join the great corps of producers of 
fiction for the public. 

More important than lack of talent was lack of 
knowledge of the right way to begin. Of course it 
requires talent to do anything. It needs ability t:> 
keep up with your classes in school, it needs abil- 
ity to succeed in business, or to succeed as a day 
laborer. Much more does it require great talent to 
enable any one to write stories that will be read 
and cared for by the vast public. No man can teach 



8 STORY- COMPOSITION. 

any person how to be a genins; bnt it is jnst as pos- 
sible to learn bow to nse tbe English language 
effectively as it is to learn how to play the piano or 
how to skate or how to play baseball. Every one 
wishes to use language effectively for some purpose 
or other, either in making a good speech or writing 
a good letter, or in telling a story to a company of 
friends about the fire. Even if we do not aspire to 
be story-writers, we wish to know how to speak 
with force on occasion; and I feel perfectly safe in 
saying that in no way can this command of lan- 
guage be gained so practically as in studying the 
art of short-story writing. 

The twelve thousand odd competitors in The 
Record's contest who failed even to receive a brevet 
of authorship may be divided into three classes. 
First, more than 2,000 failed because they were 
careless about following the rules, and their stories 
had to be thrown out; while of those who really were 
admitted to competition perhaps 2,000 more failed 
even to be considered because they were careless 
about spelling, grammar, handwriting, neatness, 
etc. These things are minor matters, and in some 
cases they might be overlooked. But if one is to 
master language the very first thing he needs to 



STORY COMPOSITION. 9 

know about words is how to spell them, and next 
lie must know how to put them together correctly 
— that is, grammatically. Some persons find bad 
spelling a natural weakness, and even some good 
writers do not spell well. But bad grammar will 
spoil even the best composition, and if one wishes 
to write the English language effectively he must 
first learn to write it grammatically. These ele- 
mentary matters are taught in all the schools, and 
must be presupposed before we can even talk about 
the construction of short stories as such. 

The next class may include some 6,000 or 
7,000 stories, well-spelled and grammatically writ- 
ten, which were thrown out because the writers did 
not get started on the right track, did not know 
what a story ought to be, or how to begin it, or 
attempted something a thousand times too difficult. 
This is by far the largest class always, and it is 
pre-eminently the class that will profit most by a 
little direction and help. There were thousands of 
stories that began " Willie's Christmas," "Frankie's 
Christmas," " Jennie's Christmas," " Tommie's 
Christmas," " Billy's Christmas," and so on 
through the whole list of common names, and then 
the list all over again. These stories showed no 



10 STORY COMPOSITION. 

lack of talent, no lack of natural ability; but they 
were not interesting. First of all, a story must 
have some interest for somebody. The art of 
short-story writing is first the art of interesting 
people, and any young competitor who succeeded 
in saying anything interesting succeeded in getting 
his story considered for a prize. 

Next to the Frankie-Johnnie- Willie-Tom mie 
class of stories was the class about poor boys who 
had a hard time and were helped on Christmas 
day by rich boys or girls. This seems more prom- 
ising, but, after all, it does not interest, because 
the same story has been told in one form or 
another so many thousand times. It is better than 
the commonplace details of how we went to grand- 
pa's, or how Teddie hung up his stocking and 
Santa Claus came down the chimney and filled it. 
The story of the poor little boy or girl who was 
lucky on Christmas day would be a good story if 
it were not so old. We want to be told of some- 
thing we have not heard about before, and some- 
thing a little different from the things we ourselves 
do every day. Those who wrote about the little 
newsboy or the little matchgirl came nearer being 
interesting, yet this class of stories was so old that 



STORY COMPOSITION. 11 

it did not really seem fresh even to a staid old 
judge who had not read children's stories since he 
was a boy. 

But none of these writers can be said to have 
got on the right track. They all thought they 
could make up a story out of nothing. Now, 
there are two ways of finding material for a story, 
for it must be found — hunted up in some way. 
Gne is to steal it from some other story. Children 
are not the only ones who do that sort of thing, 
and in the world of letters it is called plagiarism. 
When a story is written out as a story it belongs 
absolutely and wholly to the man or woman or 
boy or girl who wrote it, and to try to make up 
another story out of the same idea, or even in the 
same manner, is universally considered theft pure 
and simple. But you may take a story that some 
one has told you and that has never been written 
out as a story, for when you tell it the telling is all 
your own. Or you may take an incident from 
history, for in turning an historical incident into 
a story you must invent conversation (which sel- 
dom or never is reported in history) , and the set- 
ting and construction of the story as a story are 
the author's own. Unless the author has added 



12 STORY COMPOSITION. 

something of real, vital interest out of his own 
knowledge, a story cannot be said to be his. 

But for all that, though a story must be origi- 
nal, the idea of it must be hunted up. It cannot 
be evolved out of the point of one's pen, so to 
speak. To find a good idea for a story requires a 
great deal of hard work, and patient waiting and 
thinking things over. But by thinking long 
enough and hard enough almost any one can find 
one or two ideas that will be really interesting to 
some one else. 

The third class is composed of a thousand or 
two stories that might have been good if the 
writers had known how to tell them properly. The 
central idea in each was original and strange, and 
it evidently had interested the author, but some- 
how he failed to understand how it interested him, 
or why; and so he failed to get the really interest- 
ing thing into the story. An old novelist once said 
to me that Oliver Wendell Holmes' simile seemed 
to him best: A story in the mind is like a quart of 
molasses — it is a good story in the mind, a quart- 
ful; but when you try to turn it out it sticks to the 
sides and makes only a pint. 



STORY COMPOSITION. 13 



STORY=WRITING AS AN EXERCISE IN COriPOSITION. 

If the teachers in the public schools knew how 
to manage short-story writing as a regular exercise 
in English for their pupils, there is no doubt that it 
would prove the most effective and practical method 
for teaching not only a command of good English 
and a knowledge of grammar, punctuation and the 
significance of words, but what is of more value 
than a command of language, namely, a command 
of one's thoughts. To understand and command 
our feelings, and to know what will interest and 
touch other people, are two pieces of knowledge 
that are never taught in the schools, but which 
would be of infinite value to every one of us if we 
could learn them. Now, the study of short-story 
writing as a school exercise will help children to 
information on both these matters. Of course in- 
struction as to our personal feelings cannot be 
given in the school, but the effort to write stories 
will make the writers think about themselves, and 
the teacher has an admirable opportunity to correct 
false sentiment, morbidity and so forth when he or 
she revises the stories the children have written. 



14 STORY COMPOSITION. 

Besides, in a school exercise there is not much 
chance for sentimentality, and children are accus- 
tomed to write about seemingly delicate topics in a 
sane way, and consequently they are much more 
likely to treat them so in the practical experiences 
of life. Then as to the art of interesting people: 
School compositions are not calculated to excite 
much interest in any one. They are, and are 
meant to be, mere dry exercises in the collocation 
of words. But a story is equally good as an exer- 
cise on the mechanical side of writing and as a 
study in the art of interesting. Short story writing 
is the only practical means we know for getting 
directly at this general need in school education. 

PRACTICAL DIRECTIONS. 

Undoubtedly teachers would be only too glad 
to inaugurate a weekly exercise in story-writing 
with their classes in place of the usual composition 
if they only knew how to go about giving instruc- 
tion. # There are many textbooks on essay-writing 
which aid the teacher in giving instruction by the 
usual school-composition methods, but the new way 
of fiction has never been explored, no rules or direc- 
tions have been laid down, and desultory attempts 



STORY COMPOSITION. 15 

have proved — let us be frank, and say — decided 
failures. 

The present writer has given long and careful 
study to the subject from the point of view of writ- 
ing himself, and he has experimented with a num- 
ber of pupils. The directions he gives he believes 
will prove practical in the results to be attained, 
and they are confessedly only experimental, and 
need testing in the class-room. If teachers would 
co-operate in this attempt to render the study of 
English more interesting and effective in our 
schools, no doubt an important step might be 
gained. 

WHERE TO BEGIN. 

As in every other study, short-story waiting 
must be learned by starting at the beginning — that 
is, with simple narrations. To start off on an 
analysis of sentiment, or the portrayal of a compli- 
cated character, or the description of a delicate 
scene, is sure to end in wreck. We cannot learn 
French by studying the verbs before we have mas- 
tered the nouns, nor can we begin on algebra before 
we know arithmetic. The great majority of fail- 
ures to make any progress with story-writing as 



16 STORY COMPOSITION. 

an exercise comes from attempting too difficult 
subjects. 

THE FIRST EXERCISE. 

A skillful teacher will commence by asking 
her class to write a simple account of some inci- 
dent. She will say to her pupils: "Did you ever 
have a burglar in your house?" Why, yes! 
Some little tot is all excitement to tell the story of 
the burglar. Let that pupil write out the best ac- 
count of the story just as it happened, and send it 
to be corrected. It will be discovered that some 
details are elaborated to weariness, others are passed 
over very slightingly which we wish most to know 
about. The teacher's own interest will be her sure 
and infallible guide in judging of this first elemen- 
tary point. 

But the mass of children will never have lived 
in a house where a burglar has entered, and to ask 
those children to write a burglary story would be 
quite fatal to the end we have in mind — namely, 
to have each one describe a real incident in a way 
to interest. Perhaps some of the children have 
been in a runaway. For those who have had that 
experience, that is the subject to write about. 



STORY COMPOSITION. 17 

Others, perhaps, have been present at a skating or 
swimming catastrophe. Let snch describe that. 
Others may have been in a train wreck; some have 
seen dangerons Indians; or have heard their par- 
ents or grandparents or a friend tell some exciting 
adventnre of the kind. No child bnt will have 
some interesting story in his mind, either of his 
own experience or an experience that has been told 
him by word of month. Under no circnmstances 
shonld a child be asked or enconraged to rewrite a 
story he has read. To do that defeats the whole 
end of story writing as a useful exercise. 

NEVER COPY. 

To many teachers it may appear that the best 
way of teaching their pupils to write a good story 
is to read them a story by Hans Christian Ander- 
sen or some other master. By listening to that a 
child may learn what a really good story is. But 
no mistake could be greater than this. The child's 
first impulse is to imitate. If he models his own 
story on one that has been read to him, and that is 
a finished work of art, he merely copies the mech- 
anical features and fails to think for himself. To 
rouse his mind to some original conception is the 



18 STORY COMPOSITION. 

chief aim. Model compositions are almost un- 
known in school rhetorics, and model stories are as 
useless for elementary instruction. As soon as 
pupils have come to years of sufficient thought- 
fulness, when they really can analyze for them- 
selves, there is no better way than the use of 
models. The most up-to-date rhetorics are based 
on this method. Stevenson learned his wonderful 
style by "playing the sedulous ape," as he himself 
phrases it. But this is an advanced; method, not 
one for elementary use. 

THE RIGHT KIND OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 

Practical illustrations of course are the chief 
means of teaching, and practical illustrations alone 
will prove helpful in story-writing. But these 
must be drawn from the pupils themselves. Stories 
that have been written may be read aloud in the 
class, just as a declamation is given. The children 
will then feel instinctively whether the story is a 
good one or not, and instinctively the apter pupils 
will improve their method. Human nature will 
work out its own salvation, even with school child- 
ren in writing stories, if only it is given a perfectly 
open field, where its intuitions can be freely brought 



STORY COMPOSITION. 19 

into play. If a particularly good story — I mean 
particular good material for a story — comes out in 
the exercises, after the original treatment has been 
read to the class they may be asked to rewrite the 
story, each one in his own way, and these various 
drafts may be read aloud by the teacher or the 
pupils who wrote them, so that the varying treat- 
ment may be compared by the pupils. 

PERSPECTIVE. 

The first exercise will be the simple narration 
of an incident, an adventure, an accident, a tale. 
Besides correcting it for sentence structure, the best 
choice of words, gracefulness of description, etc., the 
teacher will concentrate her attention on what I 
may call perspective. This depends directly on a 
sense for what is really interesting and what is not, 
and not a few teachers will have to study this mat- 
ter in the compositions of their pupils with some 
pains. The interesting item should be expanded 
in proportion to its interest, the uninteresting de- 
tail should be suppressed or condensed in propor- 
tion to its lack of interest. The art of narration 
consists almost wholly in giving the right amount 
of elaboration to each detail or center of interest. 



20 STORY COMPOSITION. 

It is to story-writing what perspective is to drawing. 
To learn this perspective in fiction there is one very 
practical way. When the story has been read aloud 
certain portions will drag. Onr instinct always in- 
forms us of this. Let such passages be immediately 
cut out, however important they may seem to the 
progress of the story or however finely they are 
written. Cut them out. After these have been 
taken away the story will be found to be so much 
too short. To lengthen it, consider carefully what 
details can be elaborated with interest. You feel 
that you can give a little more space to this item, 
and a little more to that, and be perfectly interest- 
ing. Sometimes you fail in your attempt to rewrite. 
Read your story over and submit it to the same 
process again. Cut out the passages that drag and 
elaborate those that interest. When the interest is 
carried through unbroken from beginning to end 
you know that you have attained the true propor- 
tion, the genuine perspective. 

CONDUCTING A LESSON. 

The management of the first exercises should 
be as follows: Teacher will announce the story- 
writing a week in advance, asking pupils to send 



STORY COMPOSITION. 21 

in a story as a preparation for that lesson hour, 
The subjects will not be left to the discretion of 
the children, however, but should be assigned be- 
forehand in this manner: The teacher will ask: 
Who had a burglary or robbery in his family? 
Hands will go up. The names are taken, and this 
subject assigned to these. Then she will ask: 
Who has been in a skating accident, or a runaway, 
or a train wreck, etc. Those who raise their hands 
for each of these will be assigned their peculiar 
topics. Those who remain without assignments 
will have to be questioned to find what peculiar 
experience each has had, or what tale he has heard 
from his grandfather or mother, etc. Then, if the 
exercise is on Monday, the stories may be sent in 
on Friday, and this will give the teacher time to 
glance them over in advance and pick out the most 
interesting. One or two may be analyzed carefully, 
in order to criticise them in the class after they 
have been read aloud by the pupils who write them. 
The reading and discussion of these stories form 
the work of the first lesson. For the second lesson 
the pupils will be asked to rewrite any single one 
of those that have been read aloud, not, of course, 
their own. These will be brought to the class for 



22 STORY COMPOSITION. 

the second exercise, and will be exchanged among 
the pupils, and picked pupils will be asked to read 
and criticise — that is, point out bad use of lan- 
guage, bad grammar and bad narration (or what is 
uninteresting and drags, as well as what might be 
expanded). 

By this time the first draft of stories will have 
been corrected, and may be returned to the writers 
to be rewritten. The third exercise will be per- 
formed by the class itself, various pupils being 
called on to read, first the original draft of the 
story, mentioning after the reading the point to be 
corrected as marked by the teacher, and then the 
corrected draft, while comments are invited from 
the class as in the case of any other school exer- 
cise. Of course, only the practical points I have 
indicated should be discussed. Indiscriminate con- 
versation on all topics of life may be a temptation, 
but one to be avoided strictly. The detailed cor- 
rection of the rewritten drafts, if the teacher finds 
it occupies too much of her own time, might very 
profitably be done by higher classes or especially 
advanced pupils as a most excellent part of their 
own study. 



STORY COMPOSITION. 23 

II. 

THE PRACTICAL CONSTRUCTION OF 
A SNAKE STORY. 

In the preceding article we gave general direc- 
tions for writing ont a simple narrative of an inci- 
dent or adventure. But when it comes to the 
actual doing, difficulties arise. We nearly all have 
had experiences which strike us as good material, 
but when written out they seem scrappy and insuf- 
ficient. It is no easy thing to produce a thoroughly 
readable narrative. 

To illustrate the practical process, let us take 
some incidents from an actual experience, and 
exhibit the process of building up a story. 

MATERIAL FOR A SNAKE STORY. 

On the plains west of the Missouri river rat- 
tlesnakes were once plentiful, if indeed they are 
not abundant now. I have heard a friend tell of 
walking out with his father when a boy to look at 
some grass they were intending to cut for hay. It 
was very high, nearly up to his boy's chin, and as 
they walked through it a rattlesnake was running 
about in a very lively manner, circling about them. 



24 STORY COMPOSITION. 

Once it brushed past Him, and he felt its whole 
length against his shoe, by no means a comfortable 
sensation. At another time he was sleeping in a 
bedroom on a side of the frame house in which 
they lived that was being enlarged. It was sum- 
mer and very warm. One side of the bedroom had 
been taken bodily out and moved back a dozen feet 
or more, and the sides boarded up, making a room 
of twice the original size, of which the floor of 
only the old part of the room was intact. Moreover, 
on account of the heat a window-sash had been 
taken out of the window-frame and leaned against 
the wall under the window. Between this window, 
with its sash on the floor, and the bed there was 
only a narrow passage, perhaps three feet wide. 
One morning he woke up rather late and heard the 
clatter of knives and forks in the dining-room, and 
knew that the family were eating breakfast without 
him. So he jumped out of bed and hurried to 
dress. He hadn't proceeded very far when he 
heard a hiss and looking down he saw a young 
rattlesnake slowly crawling out from behind the 
window-sash, and holding its head up, looking all 
about. It shot its tongue out in a very uncanny 
way and started slowly for the door which stood 



STORY COMPOSITION. 25 

ajar at the Head of the bed. That boy jumped on 
to the bed and called lustily for his mother, inform- 
ing her that there was a snake there. " Oh, no, " 
she said, "it is only a worm." He insisted that it 
was not a worm and presently she came to prove 
to him that it was. She opened the door and found 
herself face to face with a rattlesnake two or three 
feet long, that seemed trying to climb the door- 
post. You may be sure she retreated with some 
haste, and the hired man was called in to kill the 
reptile. After that my young friend was not 
accused of mistaking worms for snakes. 

BUILDING UP THE INTEREST. 

This is an incident, but it is rather a tame one. 
In order to make a good narrative out of it some- 
thing must be added, and that something may be 
taken from another incident. In the next house 
lived a young fellow of seventeen with his father 
and mother. They had a large herd of cattle 
which he looked after. One day when his mother 
and sister were the only persons at home, he came 
limping into the house and informed them that he 
had been bitten in the ankle, through his boot, by 
a rattlesnake. He was deathly white, and his 



26 STORY COMPOSITION. 

mother, who was very fond of him, since he was 
the youngest of a large family and the only one of 
the boys left at home, was as much frightened as 
he. She pulled off his boot and stocking immedi- 
ately and gave him a large glass of whiskey and 
hot water, but her fear increasing every moment, 
she seized the ankle and sucked the poison out. 
By that act alone could the boy's life have been 
saved. In a few days he was all right again. 

Still another story, told by a friend who had 
lived in the Alleghany mountains: He and other 
young people were accustomed to pick blueberries 
on the sides of the mountain, which was infested 
with very large rattlesnakes. One day a boy and 
his sister were climbing up the mountain when 
they came upon a big snake, which the girl acci- 
dentally stepped on. The creature was roused in 
a minute and ready to bite, but was prevented from 
doing so by the boy's stepping on to its head, 
where for his own safety after saving his sister he 
was obliged to stand for an hour until help could 
be summoned to kill the snake. 

ONE STORY OUT OF THREE INCIDENTS. 

Out of these three narratives one good story 



STORY COMPOSITION. 27 

might be woven. Naturally, the writer takes for 
the foundation his own experience, because he has 
in his mind's eye all the details, and can set them 
down somewhat as I have described the experience 
of the snake in the bedroom. Now, the boy who 
was bitten and whose mother sucked the poison 
out, might have been bitten in the bedroom. Our 
narrative goes very well up to the point of the 
appearance of the snake, but it is necessary that 
something interesting should happen at this point, 
and we effect this by simply putting the second 
story on to the end of the first. To make it still 
more interesting we bring in also a part of the 
third story. Two children are in the bedroom, — 
two little brothers, let us say. One of them in 
dressing, perhaps fooling when he should be put- 
ting his clothes on, steps on the snake as it crawls 
out from behind the sash, and is saved from being 
bitten only by his brother's putting his foot on the 
snake's head. The children call for help and the 
mother comes. The snake is killed, and then it is 
discovered that the brave little fellow has been bit- 
ten, and will die unless something effective is done 
at once. The mother sucks out the poison. 



28 STORY COMPOSITION. 

HOW TO WRITE THE STORY OUT. 

Here we Have the material for a good story, a 
simple narrative of adventure, and the story is now 
blocked out. The next point is the method of tell- 
ing it. First, how should it begin? 

Observe the order in which we set down the 
facts in the little account of a personal experience. 
The story is located on the plains west of the Mis- 
souri river. There " rattlesnakes were plentiful." 
Next comes a little incident to show how plentiful 
they are, and how little people seem to mind them. 

THE OPENING PARAGRAPH. 

The good story-writer always begins with the 
thing that makes the story. In this case it is a 
rattlesnake. And almost in the same sentence 
he contrives to give the reader some idea of the 
place and the conditions. It helps to make a vivid 
picture in the mind. A snake story might be 
located in India, or Vermont, or South America. 
But the place alters the character of the story not 
a little. Perhaps we might open our tale thus : 

"On the plains west of the Missouri river rat- 
tlesnakes are abundant. They live in squirrels' 
holes in the prairie, and come out at all times 



STORY COMPOSITION. 29 

when they find it warm enongh and crawl abont in 
the grass, curl up under doorsteps, secrete them- 
selves in bedrooms ; — in fact, you never know where 
a rattlesnake may not turn up. Men think noth- 
ing of walking through the tall grass and feeling 
a hard, scaly body rubbing against the thick 
leather of their shoes, as familiarly as a purring 
cat." 

This paragraph also illustrates the art of 
amplifying, and shows how important it is that the 
writer should know by personal experience the 
subject he chooses. In speaking of rattlesnakes, 
the keystone of our story, we mention a number of 
interesting facts, incidentally, all going to show 
the general prevalence of the snakes. We wish to 
make the introductory paragraph long enough to 
impress the reader with the fact that snakes are 
common on the plains. To get this clearly in 
mind, his thoughts must be kept on the subject a 
certain length of time, — the length of time that it 
takes him to read this paragraph. The time is 
also well utilized in giving facts of useful informa- 
tion about the habits of the snakes. 

THE REMAINDER o£ THE STORY. 

Next come the details of the bedroom and the 



30 STORY COMPOSITION. 

location. Every important fact is set down. It 
was summer, and very warm: that explains the 
window sash being out. The room had been 
enlarged and only the floor of the original portion 
was intact: that explains how the snake got in. 
The artistic narrator does not say these things; 
but he sets down all his facts in the right place, so 
that his readers can put two and two together for 
themselves and understand the circumstances. 

The way in which the facts are set down in 
the paragraph we have given in some detail in the 
beginning of this article will show how the imagin- 
ary circumstances should be described, which are 
to follow the discovery of the snake, crawling out 
from behind the sash. It was easy to put down 
the right details in the part of the story the writer 
himself had experienced; he simply describes as he 
remembers, as he actually saw. Beginning with 
an actual incident gets the mind into the right 
habit, and it is not so difficult to fill out the imagin- 
ary picture. A person with a good imagination 
can see the two children instead of one, the scuffle 
while they are dressing, the stepping on the snake 
and the angry hiss which follows, perhaps the slip- 
ping and falling of the child who has stepped on 



STORY COMPOSITION. 31 

the snake, and the quick wit of the other boy in 
putting his foot on the head of the reptile. Just how 
he was bitten it is not necessary to say. In the 
excitement nobody knows. But when it is all over 
the bite is discovered. 

The writing of a good narrative consists in 
filling out all the little details of this incident, put- 
ting down realistically everything that should have 
happened. It is doubtless the hardest thing in the 
whole art of story-writing, though it seems the 
easiest. 




32 STORY COMPOSITION. 

III. 

THE ART OF DESCRIPTION. 

The art of short story writing is more the art 
of thinking than of nsing words. A person with a 
very small command of langnage may write a good 
story if his thoughts supply him the right thing to 
say. The study of this art in the schools would do 
more to cultivate accurate, truthful, every day 
observation than any other study that could be in- 
vented. Sometimes, for the purpose of cultivating 
observation, an exercise is assigned requiring the 
pupil to describe everything he saw on the way to 
school, in order to ascertain which of the pupils saw 
the most. This is excellent as far as it goes, but it 
is very limited in its application. It is generally 
assumed that story-writing is an exercise of the 
imagination and not particularly of the observing 
powers. But this is an error. The secret of good 
description is to give details which have actually 
been observed by the writer. The real picture may 
be incomplete and he may call in his imagination 
to assist in filling it out; but first hand observation 
must be exhausted first. Indeed, where one memory 
picture is incomplete, another can often be pieced 



STORY COMPOSITION. 33 

on with great success, as in the case of the narrative 
of a snake story in the preceding chapter. 

OBSERVATION THE BASIS FOR DESCRIPTION. 

The advantage in the matter of interest of a 
description direct from nature over one constructed 
purely from general hearsay — in other words, out 
of the imagination, — lies in the fact that if the most 
ordinary person really observes he will see and in- 
clude in his description something novel and inter 
esting, whereas the so-called imaginary description 
will be quite bare. Take the following, for in- 
stance, the opening paragraph of an otherwise very 
good story: 

TWO ILLUSTRATIONS. 

"Among the mountains of the far north, where 
the dark Norwegian pines lift their dusky arms to 
heaven and stand like sentinels to defend the in- 
habitants of the valley, where the lovely Friga and 
the hammer-throwing Thor hold divine sway, lies 
the estate of Hakou, the great earl of Sogne." 

Compare with the preceding this paragraph 
from Bret Harte's "The Luck of Roaring Camp," 
a description of an assemblage of men evidently 
made from actual observation: 



34 STORY COMPOSITION. 

" The assemblage numbered about a hundred 
men. One or two of these were actual fugitives 
from justice, some were criminal, and all were reck- 
less. Physically, they exhibited no indications of 
their past lives and character. The greatest scamp 
had a Raphael face, with a profusion of blond hair; 
Oakhurst, a gambler, had the melancholy air and 
intellectual abstraction of a Hamlet; the coolest 
and most courageous man was scarcely over frve 
feet in height, with a soft voice and an embarrassed, 
timid manner. The term * roughs/ applied to them, 
was a distinction rather than a definition." 

The man merely with an imagination would 
have described the hard faces, the rough manners, 
the cold, reckless eyes of this assemblage of miners. 
Bret Harte, from having actually seen that of 
which he was writing, is able to make his descrip- 
tion interesting by the strangeness what he says. 

A VERY SIMPLE DESCRIPTION. 

If the pupil should complain that Bret Harte 
uses figures of speech in his description which are 
rather hard of execution, certainly the following 
very simple description, which is also excellent, is 
within the range of all: 



STORY COMPOSITION. 35 

" The trapper's household outfit consisted of a 
table, standing against the side of the wall; a crude 
but comfortable bench, made of half a log, that stood 
before the table, and a bunk high up in a corner, 
serving for his bed, in which a thick layer of pine 
boughs formed a mattress.' Beneath this bunk lay 
various traps, bundles of furs, and other articles. 
On the opposite wall stood a hollowed out log which 
formed a serviceable washbasin. Over this, pans 
and other kitchen utensils were hung, neatly 
washed, for he was clean in his ways, indicating a 
clean character." 

This little description, actually written by a 
young girl, lacks the vigorous command of lan- 
guage and imagery of Bret Harte's description of 
the company of miners; but it is good because the 
writer confines herself to facts, and the slight awk- 
wardness of phrasing is passed over in the in- 
terest of the simple picture. 

DESCRIPTION AN EXERCISE IN THE USE OF 
ADJECTIVES. FIRE. 

The writing of descriptions is an exercise in 
the use of adjectives, and one that should be fol- 
lowed out repeated!}/ and persistently, never al- 



36 STQRY COMPOSITION. 

lowing the pupil to lapse into vague fineries. The 
first subject for description that suggests itself is 
fire. Nothing is more wonderful or more beautiful 
than fire, and every one has seen it. Some have 
seen the burning of immense buildings, with the 
great sheets and tongues of flames lapping up to 
heaven against an inky black sky; they will re- 
member the crackling of timbers, the charred but 
still glowing rafters as they break and fall, the sud- 
den pouring out of smoke through a window that 
has fallen in, the glowing sticks and cinders on the 
ground below. But those who have not seen a 
great building burn, have at least watched the 
glowing coals in an open grate, with its little 
tongues of flame that burn a full foot above the 
coals, as if they had run away and were being chased 
by a big old father flame; the blue light hovering 
softly over the coals themselves; and then the fall- 
ing of the coal into gray ashes, the gradual dying 
out of the heat and the glow, and at last the cold 
hearth, with only one faint gleam coming out the 
dark background. 

SUBJECTS FOR DESCRIPTION. 

Other common and easy subjects for descrip- 



STORY COMPOSITION. 37 

tion are a thunder-storm, a snow-storm, a hot day 
in July, a very cold day in winter, a skating party, 
the scampering about of the children in a large 
school at recess, a funeral, a wedding, a* baby-show, 
and so on and so on. In addition to these material 
pictures, which are to be drawn simply as pic- 
tures, without incident of any kind, the pupils 
as they advance may be asked to describe their 
feelings on various occasions, as they feel when it 
is believed that a brother or friend has fallen into 
a pond or otherwise been killed or injured; and in 
connection with this the fear felt at the thought of 
being punished for doing something wrong; or the 
fear felt in view of a possible failure in speaking a 
piece or reciting a lesson. Advanced pupils may 
be very greatly interested by having their minds 
turned toward a study of the differences in the emo- 
tion of fear on the various occasions. 

TO ACQUIRE FACILITY IN THE USE OF LANGUAGE. 

The first, the great difficulty, is to acquire the 
habit of actually examining in our minds our own 
real experiences of whatever kind, the habit of look- 
ing at a thing long enough and hard enough to see 
what there really is in it. Few people take the time 



38 STORY COMPOSITION. 

or trouble to learn to concentrate their minds; and 
this is one of the greatest reasons why they should be 
taught to do so. And next to this is the question of 
finding suitable words, chiefly adjectives, to describe 
what has been observed. Thinking is more im- 
portant than expressing; but expressing is only 
less important. To get the necessary words and 
phrases, especially to put a record of our emotions 
on paper, requires long and thorough practice. In 
order to increase this facility the pupil should read 
with great care a passage from a well known writer, 
and then try to reproduce it in as good language as 
the original. The passage should be short, and 
should be examined with great attention. To read 
it over once is not enough; twenty times would not 
be too many even for the brightest. These pas- 
sages, however, should be selected with care. 

AN ILLUSTRATION FROM DICKENS. 

The writer who has the greatest facility in 
common, everyday description, is probably Dickens. 
Take the description of Scrooge at the beginning of 
"A Christmas Carol," and this paragraph in par- 
ticular: 

" Oh! but he was a tight-fisted hand at the 



STORY COMPOSITION. 39 

grindstone, was Scrooge; a squeezing, wrenching, 
grasping, scraping, clutching, covetous old sinner ! 
External heat and cold had little influence on him. 
No warmth could warm, no cold could chill him. 
No wind that blew was bitterer than he, no pelting 
rain less open to entreaty. Foul weather didn't 
know where to have him. The heaviest rain and 
snow and hail and sleet could boast of the advantage 
over him in only one respect, — they often 'came 
down' handsomely, and Scrooge never did." 

The facts at the bottom of this description are 
common and simple enough. Who of us has not 
seen a grasping old miser! But nobody ever found 
such a multitude of words and phrases in which to 
express the idea. It is not only adjectives that he 
uses, but all sorts of phrases and comparisons. 

ANOTHER FROM MACAULAY. 

For an entirely different kind of description, 
read the short passage in Macaulay's "Essay on 
Milton " in which he describes the Puritans. Study 
with care even this short paragraph: 

"They were, as a body, unpopular; they could 
not defend themselves; and the public would not 
take them, under its protection. They were aban- 



40 STORY COMPOSITION. 

doned, therefore, without reserve, to the tender 
mercies of the satirists and dramatists. The osten- 
tatious simplicity of their dress, their sour aspect, 
their nasal twang, their stiff posture, their long 
graces, their Hebrew names, the Scriptural phrases 
which they introduced on every occasion, their .con- 
tempt of human learning, their detestation of polite 
amusements, were indeed fair game for the laughers. " 

NOT THE WAY TO LEARN DESCRIPTION. 

But the study of such passages as these will 
never teach the art of description. They are too 
difficult, too unnatural, too far away from the things 
the pupil has actually seen and heard with his own 
eyes and ears. They do, however, teach new methods 
of expression when the pupil has exhausted his 
own original stock. 




STORY COMPOSITION. 41 

IV. 
PLOT=CONSTRUCTION. PAGINATION. 

The first thing in the study of story-writing is 
to train the mind to careful, habitual observation of 
small details. Observation comes first, imagina- 
tion afterward. But now we will see what is the 
practical way of using the imagination in building 
up a story. In the snake story we saw that the 
actual facts and pictures which we have in our 
memories are not enough. They must be modified, 
enlarged, built up. The difficulties on this head 
may be illustrated by the following story, one of the 
brevet winners in The Chicago Record's Christ- 
mas Competition (1896). An actual spoon, dating 
back seventy years, was found in a stove, and had 
probably come out of the kindling wood, taken 
from an old tree near the house, that had lately 
been cut down. About this single fact the young 
writer of this story attempted to weave an imagin- 
ary plot: 

«<riY GRANDMOTHER'S SILVER SPOON. 

"Three little heads lay on their pillows one 
Christmas eve many years ago, sleeping soundly. 



42 STORY COMPOSITION. 

Their names were Priscilla, and Cynthia and Pa- 
tience, the twins. It had been the cnstom of Mrs. 
Van Wyck, their mother, to give Priscilla a silver 
spoon on Christmas, because she was the eldest. 
So on Christmas morning while it was yet dusk, 
three little pairs of feet crept out of bed and ran 
for their stockings; and what should Priscilla see 
but a little silver spoon peeping out of hers. This 
spoon was not a fancy one like those we have 
nowadays, for there was no decoration on it, and 
the name was engraved in very small letters. 

"The old homestead had even then seen fifty 
years come and go. It was situated in sight of the 
ocean on Long Island. Surrounding the house 
were apple and pear orchards; and the fields which 
stretched for miles around were picturesque in their 
white and glittering mantle of. snow. Within the 
house the outline of the furniture could be distin- 
guished by the warm and ruddy glow which the 
wide old fireplace sent out. Also upstairs in the 
children's room there was a sight which, if put on 
canvas, would excite admiration. There the chil- 
dren were in their snow-white night-gowns, their 
little feet half showing on the home-made rag car- 
pet and their faces glowing with delight as they 



STORY COMPOSITION. 43 

unwrapped their presents. Added to this picture 
was little Gipsy, the monkey, with his back before 
the hearth, grinning at them with his saucy little 
face. 

"The morning passed away pleasantly, and in 
the afternoon they were expecting several little 
poor children whom they had invited to share some 
of their pleasure. Priscilla and the twins had 
spread all their presents out on a table and had 
gone down to breakfast, little knowing how brim- 
ful of mischief Gipsy was. He was very much 
pleased with the pretty array of presents, but took 
a particular fancy to the silver spoon. He took the 
spoon up and examined it, and thought he would 
like to have it where he could see it whenever he 
wanted to. So after leaving the room with it, a 
few minutes later he returned without it. When 
the children came back he looked very innocent; 
but they did not miss anything, for just then the 
poor children came. 

"They had a very pleasant day with the poor 
children. When they went away in a large old- 
fashioned sleigh with Mr. Van Wyck, Priscilla 
watched them until they were out of sight. Then 
she went back into her quaint old home. 



44 STORY COMPOSITION. 

"The last thing the children did before going 
to bed was to look at their presents again. Bnt to 
their surprise, the silver spoon was gone. Where, 
when, and how it had disappeared they did not 
know. They called their mother and father in, 
and together they hunted high and low, but could 
not find it. 

"Outside the air was cold and clear, and there 
reigned on earth a stillness and peace which raised 
the soul into unknown realms; and the twinkling 
stars echoed the joyful song, 'Peace on earth, good 
will toward men.' 

"Many years had passed, and if we again look 
into the old homestead more quaint than at the be- 
ginning of the story, we should not find Cynthia 
and Patience, but Priscilla and her grandchildren. 
Priscilla was the only one left of that once happy 
family, and I am afraid you would not know the 
bright little girl; for years and sorrow have told on 
the pretty face. But she is a kind and loving 
grandmother to her grandchildren. 

"One day in November there was quite a stir 
in the homestead, because a silver spoon with 
Grandma's name engraved upon it was found in 
the kitchen stove. No one knew anything about 



STORY COMPOSITION. 45 

it, and all were eager for Grandma's return from 
the city. Priscilla returned a few days before 
Christmas, and in their joy of seeing her, the spoon 
was forgotten, until on Christmas afternoon, when 
all were gathered around the family hearth, when 
Fred, Priscilla' s only grandson, brought the spoon, 
and all asked eager questions about it. Grandma 
told them the story of that Christmas when she 
was a little girl, and all came to the conclusion 
that Gipsy must have hidden it in a tree near the 
house. The wood had grown around it, and as 
they were using the trees for kindling, it must 
have gotten into the stove in this way. They all 
had a good laugh about Gipsy, and a pretty picture 
they made, dear old Grandma with snow-white hair 
smiling sweetly upon all her grandchildren who, 
with faces upturned to hers, listened to the tales 
of days gone by. Thus they sat until the glow of 
the embers grew dim and again the 'Peace of God' 
rested upon the souls in that quaint old homestead 
on Christmas night." 

DEFECT OF THE STORY. 

Now this story shows plenty of imagination, 
and of the right kind, too. The description of the 



46 STORY COMPOSITION. 

Christmas seventy years ago, and likewise the 
scene at the end, and even the starlight night, are 
all taken from similar scenes of personal observa- 
tion, and are jnst as real as if they had happened 
in the connection described. Bnt the fine and 
healthy imagination is not used in the right way. 
The story is not properly constrncted, and for that 
reason fails to interest the reader except for its ex- 
cellent description. 

THE NEED OF HUMAN INTEREST. 

To make a good plot ont of the simple' fact 
that a silver spoon lost seventy years before was 
fonnd in the wood of a tree, we may very well pre- 
sume that the monkey put it in the tree. But this 
is not quite enough. Some human interest should 
be added. Perhaps the loss of that spoon was laid 
to one of the poor children the writer speaks of. 
They conclude that this child, who is known to 
have come of a bad family, stole it; the suspicion 
blights the little one's character, and it goes down 
to its grave never justified. Seventy years after- 
ward the spoon is found in the tree in such a man- 
ner as completely to clear away the imputation. 
Here we have a little bit of life's tragedy, and this 



STORY COMPOSITION. 47 

will make the difference between a good story and 
a poor one. 

THE PROPER ARRANGEMENT. 

Bnt we mnst rearrange the story. The twins, 
Cynthia and Patience, have nothing to do with the 
tale, and shonld not be mentioned. And the little 
description of a Christmas morning with which the 
story opens gives no clew to the interest. The 
main thing is the finding of the spoon. So that 
should come at the beginning and not at the end. 
But if we put the paragraph (telling about the find- 
ing of the spoon), at present in the latter part of the 
story at the beginning, there should be no break, 
such as that caused by the spoon being found and 
then forgotten and the story told on Christmas day. 
That spoils the movement. The reader wants the 
story to go on quickly. 

THE STORY AS IT SHOULD BE. 

Let the story begin thus: The spoon is found. 
All is excitement. The children take it to Grand- 
ma. She looks at it, grows pale, lays her head 
back, closing her eyes. That spoon calls up pain- 



48 STORY COMPOSITION. 

ful memories of long ago. The children stand 
aronnd in silence, waiting to hear what it all 
means. Then Grandma ronses herself and tells 
the story. Pnt it in Grandma's own words: 

" That spoon was my Christmas present, 
seventy years ago. How well I remember that morn- 
ing ! [Here comes in the little description, so nicely 
given in the original story, of the Christmas morn- 
ing at the old homestead.] As I was the eldest, I 
had each Christmas a silver spoon. You see what 
a simple, plain old spoon it is, not like the spoons 
nowadays. We spread all our things out on the 
bed, and leaving Gipsy, our monkey, to guard 
them, we went down to breakfast; and by the time 
we had finished, our guests of the day arrived. 
[There should be a little description of the monkey, 
and also a detailed description of the children, 
especially of the one who it is supposed should be 
the thief] 

"When after a time we went upstairs to look at 
our things, there was Gipsy looking very innocent. 
No one could have suspected him of doing anything 
wrong. We were so busy talking and showing lit- 
tle Ellen and the rest all the big things that we 
never thought about the spoon, such a plain, unim- 



STORY COMPOSIITON. 49 

portant thing as a spoon. But when they were 
gone, and mother went to pick up the things, while 
we followed behind very sleepy, she asked me 
where my spoon was, and I could not tell her. We 
hunted high and low: it could not be found. We 
none of us said it, but we were all thinking that 
little Ellen, whose father had gone to the peniten- 
tiary for stealing, had taken it away with her. 
When father came back mother told him, and he 
was very angry, and said that came of inviting 
such children to a holiday. He would go straight 
over and force her to confess. He went; she denied 
having touched the spoon; nobody believed her. 
People seldom went to see her after this; after a 
time her mother J£ed; then' her sisters; and she 
was left a lonely old maid, living solitary in her 
cabin until she, too, died. 

"And here is the spoon, hidden in the wood of 
that tree, high up among its branches. Only Gipsy 
could have gotten up there; but he would often 
climb that tree, and I remember how that very 
morning he scampered out on the snow and ran 
up the tree, and we had to coax him for a long 
time before he would come down." 



50 STORY COMPOSITION. 

THE SECRET OF SUCCESSFUL STORY-WRITING. 

Told thus, we have an interesting and beauti- 
ful story. But it is the human interest that makes 
it so. The secret of plot-construction is finding 
some way in which the incident affects a human 
being, makes a difference in somebody's life, as 
this did in the life of little Ellen. Begin by giving 
a direct clew to the interesting point. In this case 
it is the discovery of the spoon, and the way Grand- 
ma is affected by the sight of it. Her turning pale 
makes the reader think there is something interest- 
ing to come. The reader's curiosity once aroused, 
the nicely wrought little descriptions can be worked 
in to delay the denouement, which in this case is 
that the monkey hid the spoon in the tree. This 
must be kept for the last. The monkey is spoken 
of, but the fact that he took the spoon is saved for 
a surprise at the end. 

The work of the imagination is not in invent- 
ing pure romance, but in fitting together and filling 
out facts and incidents which we have already in 
mind. 



STORY COMPOSITION. 51 

V. 

DIALOGUE. 

One of the most difficut things to learn in the 
writing of stories is the easy management of 
dialogue. This is something that should be left 
until the other and simpler phases of the subject 
are mastered; and in any case, it will be found that 
this depends more on natural ability than anything 
else. Pupils may cultivate their powers of narra- 
tion and plot construction, even the art of descrip- 
tion, with much more hope of success than a com- 
mand of good dialogue. 

THE REAL SECRET OF DIALOGUE. 

Dialogue depends on characterization, and 
characterization is the natural ability of the writer 
to play the parts of his personages, put on their 
manners, look at life from their point of view, 
enter into them sympathetically. Many people are 
too proud and self-contained to lend themselves 
easily to any character but their own; and this 
power of sympathetic adaptation is one of the chief 



52 STORY COMPOSITION. 

secrets of success in the realm of story-writing. 
Especially is it so in dialogue. Every time a speech 
is uttered by a character, the writer should put 
himself as much in the position of his personage 
as an actor does when he dresses for a part on the 
stage; and then when the reply comes, the writer 
must be ready to play another part with equal 
success. 

HOW TO CULTIVATE IT. 

And yet there are ways in which the art of 
dialogue may be cultivated, with great interest to 
teachers and pupils. 

The easiest kind of dialogue is that between 
characters as widely different "as possible, and pro- 
bably the easiest of all is, that between a person 
who speaks dialect and one who speaks good 
English. There are two or three kinds of dialect 
that every one knows something about; for instance, 
the Irishman's brogue, the New England farmer's 
way of speaking, and the free and easy slang of a 
school boy or a street urchin. Each one of these 
dialects is more or less the embodiment of a dis- 
tinct character; so is the negro dialect. At the 
same time they are classic in literature, and the 



STORY COMPOSITION. 53 

study of dialogue might begiu with them. The 
simplest way is to put any sort of yarn in the 
mouth of a person speaking one of these well- 
known and common dialects. The following will 
show the method admirably. 

THE SIMPLE WAY. 

" 'What!' asked a grizzled old miner; * you 
never heard how he got them skates?' 

" 'I confess I never did, but I shall be glad to 
learn now,' replied the stranger. 

" 'Wal, I 'm just as glad to tell you if ye '11 
listen.' 

"Then, lighting his old pipe, just as a sailor 
would before spinning a yarn, he began: 

" 'Jest two weeks ago, an' two days afore 
Christmas, Fred Hardy was a-feelin' awful blue. 
He was a-wantin' a new pair o' skates for the big 
Christmas race, but he didn't have no money to 
get 'em nor neither did his dad.' " 

This is, of course, more monologue than 
dialogue; but one speech comes before two, the 
part of one character must be played before two 
can be managed. Moreover, this use of a dialect 
is one of the best ways in the world of easily 



54 STORY COMPOSITION. 

getting into a character for the purpose of con- 
structing the story, quite apart from the matter 
of dialogue. 

THE USE OF DIALECT IN TEACHING CORRECT 
GRAMMAR. 

It may be imagined that this conscious culti- 
vation of dialect would tend to loose habits of 
grammar, and slang where pure English is to be 
desired. It is not so, however. To use these un- 
grammatical expressions with effect, the pupil must 
understand clearly what is really right. For 
instance, in the passage quoted above, the phrase 
"nor neither did his dad" would lose all its force 
as dialect, if the writer of it did not understand 
that it is an error to use two negatives, since one 
of them is redundant, a useless addition. The 
same is true of "didn't have no money to get 'em;" 
also of "you never heard how he got them skates." 
In order to write ungrammatical dialect well, the 
writer must understand pure English perfectly; 
and when he is attempting to write pure English, 
it must be all the purer, for loose and ungram- 
matical expressions in this part, by the side of the 
consciously ungrammatical ones in the dialect, 



STORY COMPOSITION. 55 

appear highly ridiculous. Dialect is like caricature 
in drawing. To draw a good caricature, an artist 
must first be able to draw a figure with perfect 
truth; then, consciously deviating from the truth, 
he produces results highly amusing. 

A GOOD EXERCISE. 

A very amusing and useful exercise is to have 
the same story written out as if told by two or 
three different characters in as many dialects. For 
instance, take the familiar story of a countryman 
coming to town and being imposed upon by a 
sharper with a gold brick; the New England far- 
mer would be shrewd, innocent and serious in his 
narrative; the Irishman would be witty, even at 
his own expense; the negro would be happy-go- 
lucky. And all these characteristics would come 
out in their dialect. In choosing an incident to be 
told by each of three characters like this, care 
must be taken to see that it is one that could 
happen to either alike. Another subject that might 
be taken is the experience of each in going skating, 
or in going courting, or in getting into a fight. 
When written, these exercises could not properly 
be called stories, only sketches. But being simpler 



56 STORY COMPOSITION. 

than stories, they are so much the better adapted 
to the purposes of practice. 

CHARACTERS SHARPLY CONTRASTED. 

The next step should be to bring these char 
acters together, perhaps adding a Chinaman, with 
his pigeon English. Let them come together 
and have a contention over something, perhaps 
run into each other on the street, or elbow each 
other at the Chinaman's laundry. Each speaks 
his own dialect and ridicules the dialect of the 
other. 

These characters are as different as any char- 
acters can be made. Their difference makes their 
conception easy, whereas the characters of two 
equal friends in ordinary society would be ex- 
tremely difficult to make individual, just because 
they resemble each other so much. They are 
characterized by subtle differences which the pupil 
has not yet learned to draw. 

CHARACTERS MORE ALIKE. 

Our next step should be an exercise in dia- 
logue between two characters a little nearer 
together, yet with wide differences; for instance, a 



STORY COMPOSITION. 57 

dialogue between an old man and a child. The 
child wants to know how Christmas originated. 
The old man tries to tell him, and the child asks 
questions as the storiy goes on. Or the two char- 
acters may be a frivolous girl and her father, or 
such a girl in conversation with a street urchin, or 
her small brother. The range of exercises is 
almost unlimited. 

PROGRESSIVE EXERCISES. 

Next, represent the conversation between two 
persons of about the same age and in the same 
position in society, but a position or an age as 
different as possible from that of the writer's. It 
is far easier to show how two negroes will talk 
together, or two little girls or little boys at their 
play, or two farmers, etc., than two people like our- 
selves. And the two characters, though alike in 
their speech, may be as different as possible in 
their ways of looking at things, their tone of voice, 
and the like. 

Most difficult of all, as I have said, is dialogue 
between persons of our own social position and 
age, our familiars, our equals. But even here there 
is one way easier than another, and the student 



58 STORY COMPOSITION. 

must always be made to begin with the easiest, and 
then proceed to the difficult. It is easier to repre- 
sent yourself talking to some one of your friends, 
than two of your friends talking together. The 
reason is apparent: you know your own character 
better than that of any one else, and when it 
comes to contrasting yourself with one of your 
friends, you understand your friend much better 
than when you contrast two of your friends. 

PROPER SUBJECTS FOR DIALOGUE. 

The topics for conversation between two chil- 
dren, or two persons who speak dialect, must 
always be some practical, everyday affair. But 
when two friends talk together, it is easier to make 
them converse on some topic of broad human in- 
terest, on which they can exchange their ideas, 
than to try at the outset to make their conversa- 
tion help on a story. First one speaks, and then 
another speaks, giving his ideas on "getting on in 
the world, " or on love, or the pleasures of the im- 
agination. These subjects are not such as charac- 
ters in stories can or will often discuss; but they 
serve admirably as preliminary exercises. 



STORY COMPOSITION. 59 

HOW TO USE DIALOGUE IN A STORY. 

So much for the series of exercises necessary 
to gain a facility in the use and management of 
dialogue as one of the elements of a story, taken 
as a separate element. But when it comes to util- 
izing dialogue as part of the machinery of a com- 
plete story, we should seldom or never introduce it 
in such large quantities as these exercises would 
indicate. Two or three sentences are thrown in to 
lighten or brighten the narative or description. 
Sometimes these bits of dialogue form part of the 
simple record of facts, as in this passage from 
Dicken's "A Child's Dream of a Star:" 

"Again the child dreamed of the opened star, 
and of the company of angels, and the train of 
people, and the rows of angels with their beaming 
eyes all turned upon those people's faces. 

" Said his sister's angel to the leader, — 

" 'Is my brother come?' 

"And he said, 'Not that one, but another.' 

"As the child beheld his brother's angel in her 
arms, he cried, 'O sister, I am here! Take me!' And 
she turned and smiled upon him, and the star was 
shining." 



60 STORY COMPOSITION. 

Again, the dialogue is a little by-play; or the 
indirect narrative is thrown into the direct for a 
moment. In general, the chief direction is the 
warning, never give above twelve lines of dia- 
logue without a descriptive touch, a simple, direct 
statement, or a break of some other sort. Dialogue 
is the sauce to the pudding. 




STORY COMPOSITION. 61 

VI. 

CHARACTERIZATION. 

The essential thing in fiction is not the man- 
agement of narration, description, or dialogue, but 
characterization, the conception in the imagination 
of real men and women. Vigorous and original 
characterization is genius, and we could not face a 
more complicated subject than this. Yet it is one 
which repays study by every one. 

GENERAL TYPES. 

Our first step should be to select the general 
types of men and women already treated in fiction, 
or, if you please, that we see ourselves in looking 
out over the world. The first great division which 
we see is the rich and poor. The poor man, the poor 
woman, the poor child is a distinct type; so is the 
rich man, the rich woman, the rich child. These 
types are so distinct that we are almost inclined to 
fancy there is no middle class. 

The second type that strikes our attention in 
fiction is the lover, a young man or young woman 



62 STORY COMPOSITION. 

from sixteen to thirty, beautiful or homely, rich or 
poor, but in any case possessing some noble senti- 
ment. And here we begin to have material for a 
story. Let us see how it is used for the purposes 
of fiction. 

CONTRAST. 

The secret of strength in fiction is contrast. 
In order to make a story we choose two or three 
different characters, which come together and in 
so doing make the story. Let us take two, and let 
them be the conventional lovers. Now, if both are 
rich and simply meet and like each other and 
marry we have no story worth telling. The same 
is true if both are poor. In coming together they 
must overcome difficulties, and they must present 
a sufficient contrast. If a rich young man falls in 
love with a poor girl, or a poor young man falls in 
love with a rich girl, we have a story at once. We 
contrast his rich home with her shabby one, or 
vice versa, his polished manners with her simple, 
unsophisticated ones, or the reverse. By this con- 
trast we see their differences, and these differences 
are what we call character. 



STORY COMPOSITION. 63 

HOW TO DEVELOP A CHARACTER. 

Our spontaneous idea of characterization is a 
long description of our hero or heroine. We tell 
the color of his hair, or hers, his or her eyes, com- 
plexion, dress; in short, we tell everything about 
him that we can think of. This is very good 
practice, but it should not be put in the story. Let 
the pupil sit down and write out full descriptions 
of his hero and heroine, in the minutest detail. 
These descriptions may be brought before the class 
and criticised. The writer by this means grad- 
ually becomes familiar in his own mind with the 
people he is going to deal with. When he has 
learned to know them as familiarly as his brothers 
and sisters or everyday companions he may set to 
work to write his story about them. Being real 
and individual, in the story they will act in a way 
peculiar to themselves. Somehow or other, they 
will seem to work out their own destiny quite in- 
dependent of the author. This individual peculiar- 
ity is character. We cannot get at it by thinking 
about it directly. It seems to grow in the mind 
without our volition. 



64 STORY COMPOSITION. 

THE IMPORTANCE OF TIME IN THINKING OUT 
CHARACTERS. 

The study of characterization must be pursued 
in the development of characters, and for this time 
must be given. Characters grow in the mind un- 
consciously. But it is not enough to describe a 
character and leave it at that. The description 
must prelude a story, but must not be a part of it. 
Study the characters for the purpose of making a 
story, let them mature in the mind, and then, 
throwing aside the descriptions, write the story 
about the personalities with whom you have be- 
come familiar. 

LEADING TYPES. RICH AND POOR. 

In the study of characterization the pupil 
should become acquainted with the leading types 
in fiction. We have already mentioned the rich 
man and the poor man, the rich woman and the 
poor woman, the rich child and the poor child, 
which may perhaps best be studied in pairs. 

OLD AND YOUNG. 

Another universal type in fiction is the grand- 
mother and grandfather, whose peculiar character- 



STORY COMPOSITION. 65 

istics come out when surrounded by children. 
Granny should have a group of little girls about 
her, or should live alone on the hill, while the 
school children go by and mock at her. The old 
man is sometimes the butt for teasing by the small 
boys; or else he is the kindly old grand-dad who 
tells stories and makes kites, and the like. The 
old man or woman is an easy type to study in its 
variations, and makes the best means for the study 
of the opposite type, the child. The study of 
children is secondary, but none the less important. 
Beside the value of the contrast, it is much easier 
to be simple and natural in the description of the 
old people if the attention is divided between them 
and the children. If both the old people and the 
children are well described, the pupil will have 
caught the essentials of characterization, for they 
consist in fully realizing contrasting extremes. 

SERVANT AND MISTRESS OR MASTER. 

Still another universal type which it is essen- 
tial to study is the servant, the hired girl and the 
hired man, who must be described in connection 
with master or mistress. There is the city mis- 
tress, and the spruce maid in white cap and apron; 



66 STORY COMPOSITION. 

there is the hired girl in the country farmhouse 
who eats at the same table with her mistress, and 
with whom the mistress works side by side in the 
kitchen. There is the city coachman or gardener 
and his gentleman master, who comes home from 
business at night to criticise the work, make sug- 
gestions, and be respectfully addressed; and again, 
the hired man who works with the farmer in the 
same field as a genuine helper, without, however, 
taking the responsibility and risk, the worry and 
effort, or sharing in the hope for the future, except 
as a sympathetic outsider. 

THE CRIMINAL AND THE GUILELESS. 

Another type that should be studied is the 
criminal. He may be old or young, but usually 
he should be middle-aged; he may be rough and 
vicious-looking, or sleek and oily. And he is best 
understood when placed in contrast with the sweet 
and innocent. Place him in the same lodging- 
house with the guileless old man, or bring him 
into contrast with a sweet young girl, an innocent, 
generous child, or a good woman. The criminal 
may be the son of a good mother, or the daughter 
of a kind father. The chief type of the criminal is 



STORY COMPOSITION. 67 

the man; but woman forms a very interesting 
variety and one extremely useful to study. There 
is the young girl who tells lies and gets angry 
with her mother; and by her side we may place the 
wayward young woman who runs away from home 
to seek her fortune. The boy who runs away to 
seek his fortune is one of the most familiar char- 
acters in romance. There is no reason why the 
girl should not, in these modern days of women's 
work, do the same. The two may even come to- 
gether and work out their fortunes side by side. 

TOWN AND COUNTRY PEOPLE. 

There are two other types which we must not 
neglect, the country boy and the town boy, or the 
country girl and the girl of the city, or the farmer 
and the man of business. These types are as uni- 
versal and as generally familiar as the others we 
we have mentioned, and have formed the basis for 
innumerable novels. The variations are great and 
the conditions under which the two come together 
open the field to infinite invention; but there is not 
a child but knows something of both. 



68 STORY COMPOSITION. 

THE HEROIC AND THE COMMONPLACE. 

Lastly we may speak of the great and heroic, 
and the commonplace, the ordinary. The theme 
of many a novel has been the yonng man or woman 
who endeavors to raise himself or his above the 
snrronndings which depress and drag down. Noble 
sentiments may be fonnd in man or woman, boy or 
girl alike, in a great variety of personalities and 
conditions. We may have the practical, hard-headed, 
patient straggler, or the vagne dreamer, constantly 
misunderstood and thwarted. But the noble person 
is not clear and real without the conditions or com- 
panions which strive against him. These adverse 
persons or conditions need not necessarily be bad; 
they are merely blunt, unresponsive, unintelligent, 
and so very different from the typical criminal, who 
is evil active not passive. In some form or other, 
this type is always the hero. 

COMBINING TYPES. 

. After studying these different types in pairs 
as types, the next step is to combine them. The 
rich and the poor may be either of the country or 
of the town. The country poor and the town poor 



STORY COMPOSITION. 69 

are very different, and by combining country poor 
and town poor, or country rich, and town rich, we 
have two entirely new sets of contrasting personali- 
ties. And any of these may be good or bad, heroic 
or commonplace. It is even possible, as in many 
of Dickens's characters, for those born and reared ( 
in criminal surroundings to be essentially heroic 
and good at heart. And to produce variations on the 
universal .types I have pointed out, the types due to 
locality may be introduced. The rich, man may be 
French, English or American, Negro, Chinese, or 
Yankee farmer. Not every one is familiar with all 
these types, however, and it is a mistake to try to 
describe types or personalities which are only 
myths. 

THE WRITER MUST CLING TO THE CHARACTERS 
HE KNOWS BEST. 

The chief object is to develop the rich stores 
of knowledge of human nature already in the mind 
of the pupil, whoever or whatever he may be. The 
stock of information that each one has is quite 
enough without going farther afield. Jane Austen, 
one of the greatest of writers of fiction, was born 
and brought up in a country village, and very sel- 



70 STORY COMPOSITION. 

dom left it, never for any length of time. The 
types of characters she was familiar with were very 
few, hnt they were qnite enough to make her fame. 
The people Miss Mary Wilkins knows thoroughly 
are confined to a very narrow range of types, but 
she has made the reputation of a genius by confin- 
ing herself to them. 




STORY COMPOSITION. 71 

VII. 
SENTiriENT. 

Fiction deals chiefly with sentiment, and to 
understand and master it is one of the chief objects 
of the student. Sentiment does not necessarily 
mean love, however. It is the feelings that are 
aroused by every incident in human life, and these 
are as various as life itself, as the range of the 
human mind. 

The study of feeling is one of the most valu- 
able and the most interesting that can be imag- 
ined, and one of the most useful practically in life. 
It gives the habit of self-analysis, for sentiment is 
something that can be studied only in one's self 
primarily. Having become a thorough master of 
one's own moods, one comes to understand the 
feelings of others by comparison, and this system- 
atic comparison even assists us to develop our 
knowledge of ourselves. 

One thing more must be premised. In 
describing feeling or sentiment, the only means 
possible is comparison to material things or to 
well-known moods. 



72 STORY COMPOSITION. 

HOW TO STUDY EMOTIONS. 

The most complicated and intricate of all the 
well-known sentiments is that of love. Perhaps 
the simplest is fear. To those unaccustomed to 
self-analysis, the feelings are as unaccountable as 
the wind which blows; and to get some insight 
into them we must begin with the simplest and 
study each in succession carefully. 

As we examined the various types of human 
character in pairs, we should examine the various 
universal sentiments in contrasting couples. 
Against fear set courage, against love set hate, 
against greed set generosity, against the sense of 
beauty the sense of ugliness, against the sense of 
admiration the sense of disgust, etc. 

FEAR. 

To begin our exercise with the study of fear, 
let us describe carefully various situations. How 
would you feel if a burglar should hold you up and 
place a revolver at your head ? As you have 
never undergone the experience you do not know; 
but you can make a shrewd guess at it. How did 
you feel when father or mother was about to chas- 



STORY COMPOSITION. 73 

tise you ? How did you feel when standing on the 
top of a high building from which you might fall ? 
How did you feel when in the street a rapidly 
driven team of horses came near running over 
you ? How did you feel when a falling stick or 
stone or other missile came near falling on your 
head? Thinking of all these things, would you 
(looking on yourself purely as an outsider) be 
willing to advance to the mouth of a cannon in 
battle ? 

COURAGE. 

To answer this last question a new element 
must enter in. Frequently two sentiments oppose 
each other, and the strongest of course controls. 
Fear is a perfectly natural, but at the same time a 
low, passion. Courage is the balancing of some 
nobler passion against it that outweighs it. The 
natural love of life makes us all desirous of pre- 
serving ourselves, and a willingness to die without 
cause is a sign of weakness. No healthy, sane 
man would walk to the cannon's mouth without a 
sufficient reason. This reason may be a patriotic 
devotion to country. If patriotism is stronger than 
a natural love of life, a soldier will walk up to the 



74 STORY COMPOSITION. 

cannon's month without shrinking. A mother 
loves her child more than her own life, and dashes 
under the horses' hoofs to rescue the infant about 
to be crushed ; the sentiment of love of admiration 
and glory is stronger than the love of life when a 
tight-rope walker will endanger his existence; etc. 

GENEROSITY AND ITS REVERSE. 

Let us examine the sentiment of generosity 
and the contrasting sentiment of economy. If 
generosity is dominant, we have an instinctive im- 
pulse to give something to a poor child on the 
street, to help a poor woman who has fallen down, 
to yield to a companion the coveted apple, to give 
and do at every opportunity offered. But against 
that may be set the reflection that if we give we 
shall not have for ourselves, we would starve, die, 
waste our substance and our energy. The fast 
young man who throws his money broadcast, to 
every one who asks him for a loan, or accepts his 
hospitality, is criminally generous. Against him 
we have the miser. In order to understand the 
sentiment we must examine our own feelings under 
such circumstances as those named, or others like 
them, and especially watch the conflict of emotions, 



STORY COMPOSITION. 75 

which we may describe by figures of speech and 
comparisons to material things. 

THE SENSE OF BEAUTY. 

We must now examine feeling from a different 
point of view, namely the sentiments that arise in 
the presence or at the thought of beautiful or ugly 
objects. To all intents and purposes beauty and 
ugliness are sentiments. Certain feelings, certain 
unconscious impulses, rise within us when we be- 
hold a beautiful woman or a beautiful sunset or a 
beautiful vase. Certain opposite feelings appear 
unconsciously when we behold a hideous old man, 
or a dull, murky sky. In the case of beauty and 
ugliness, the practical question is, What is it that 
gives rise to the sentiment of pleasure which we 
call beauty? What goes to make up a beautiful 
girl, for instance? Shape and mould of feature and 
of figure, color of hair and eyes, grace, dignity, and, 
more than all, certain qualities which we find it very 
difficult to analyze. No more interesting exercise 
can be imagined than a series of papers on what 
constitutes a beautiful woman or a pretty girl, that 
is, a description of such a person in all the minute 
details which make it possible for those who listen 



76 STORY COMPOSITION. 

to realize the conception. The same exercise 
may be repeated in the description of a handsome 
man. In contrast with this an interesting question 
arises when we ask, What is it that is positively- 
fascinating and attractive in a man or woman who 
by every rule of perfection should be hideously 
ugly? Compare also the effect of certain sculptured 
faces /that appear to be hideous, but nevertheless 
are attractive. Try to describe such a beautiful 
though ugly face so that others may realize and 
understand it. 

Most interesting sentiments to study, — in 
others if not in ourselves, — are the sentiments of 
vanity and pride. What is the difference between 
them? Is vanity mere love of admiration? Is pride 
mere haughty reserve? We associate vanity 
especially with women. What would constitute a 
vain man? Personal appearance is not everything. 
Yanity may exist in our record in scholarship, in our 
superiority in sports, in anything and everything 
which excites admiration in others. But this ad- 
miration may be excited and yet no feeling of van- 
ity will arise in the person who excites. Consider 
those persons who are indifferent to praise and 
blame. Is not this studied indifference pride ? We 



STORY COMPOSITION. 77 

speak of cold pride and empty vanity, and a popu- 
lar phrase is " light as vanity. " In studying these 
sentiments we must remember that both pride and 
vanity in their proper places are not faults but 
virtues; A due regard for the opinion of others is 
decency, is an incentive to work, etc.; and pride 
prevents men and women from sinking to ignoble, 
lives, or unbending because of hardships. 

THESE SENTIMENTS SHOULD BE EXPLAINED. 

The subject may seem complicated to a certain 
extent. It may become very complicated; but also 
it may be treated simply. The sentiments men- 
tioned are so common that they should be explained 
even to children, who from every day observation 
may comprehend something of their meaning. 

THE RELIGIOUS SENTIMENT. 

Another sentiment which must not be omitted, 
but except in special cases is too difficult to be 
studied in this connection, is the religious senti- 
ment. One phase of it, however, is perfectly open 
to general study, and that is self-sacrifice for the 
principle of right, wherever, however it may be 
found. Stories of self-sacrifice cover the whole 



78 STORY COMPOSITION. 

range of characters which we have examined, and 
involve in one way or another all other sentiments. 
And yet it is a sentiment by itself, and has been the 
theme of some of the best stories in the language. 
The sense of duty is also a sentiment. It compels 
people to do a great variety of things which their 
reason does not insist on, and for which they are 
naturally disinclined except for the insistence of 
this sense. 

LOVE. 

The sentiment which has come to be called 
pre-eminently " sentiment " is that of love, or per- 
sonal affection in one form or another. A senti- 
ment of any kind carrying the whole nature away 
against the dictates of all other sentiments, and 
against reason and every restraining force (at least 
for a time) is called a passion. And the passion 
is the passion of love. But there may be a relig- 
ious passion, a passion of generosity, a passion for 
beauty (that is, a passion for art), a passion of 
pride. The well known passion between men and 
women we may pass over for the time, and regard the 
personal sentiment in its various other relations. 
A woman's love for her child is a sentiment, and 



STORY COMPOSITION. 79 

one capable of very wide study. We may take a 
mother from any class or condition of society, and 
watch the manifestation of her regard for her child. 
Of course in the normal state it is not perceptible. 
To exhibit it, we must take the child away, for in- 
stance. Maternal love comes out especially in 
fighting for the life or welfare of the child, and the 
subject is one full of dramatic possibilities. An- 
other interesting phase of it is seen when the 
mother must choose between the welfare of two chil- 
dren. Which shall she sacrifice ? There is also 
such a thing as paternal love, and paternal and 
maternal love may sometimes be at variance. Like- 
wise, love of life, pride of the world, etc., may be 
found to conflict with the sentiment of parental 
affection. There is also the sentiment of friend- 
ship, the test of which, so often exhibited in fiction, 
is most plainly seen when two friends love the same 
man or the same woman. 




80 STORY COMPOSITION. 

VIII. 
THE LOVE STORY. 

The study of fiction in schools and elsewhere 
should be primarily the study of life. There is 
large opportunity for touching on necessary though 
delicate questions not found in an}^ other field of 
study, and this opportunity should not be ignored. 
The relations between men and women are a delicate 
subject, yet they form the basis of the great mass 
of fiction, the chief topic for reading and secret 
thought during the formative years of early man- 
hood and womanhood. There would be no reason, 
therefore, why through the medium of a study of 
love stories, these questions may not be examined. 

THE UTILITY OF LOVE IN FICTION. 

The treatment of love in fiction is rarely un- 
derstood by beginners in writing. Few skillful 
novelists direct their attention specifically at love, 
but make love the excuse and means for studying 
life in all its length and breadth. And this is the 
reason for it : Under the influence of a powerful 



STORY COMPOSITION. 81 

passion the whole nature of a man or woman be- 
comes clear and apparent. In his passive state a 
human being is more or less colorless, indistinct, 
like a photographic negative that has not yet been 
developed. The picture lies in the dark film, but 
it is undeveloped. Passion is like a powerful de- 
veloper. It rouses the blood, strains the nerves, 
calls out all the other sentiments, good and evil, 
attractive and repugnant. The novelist who de- 
sires to study life finds this universal developer of 
the utmost service to him, not because of his in- 
terest in love itself, but because of the startling 
relief into which it throws all other elements. The 
love story is primarily the study of a man or 
woman under the influence of passion, when every 
characteristic of his nature has been brought out 
clearly and definitely. We all know how under 
such stress some people will become thieves, mur- 
derers, slanderers, while others will manifest a sub- 
lime heroism, undergo all manner of suffering, or 
perhaps change from a life of thriftlessness to one 
of hard work and patient endeavor. The contrast 
between the life before the passion is applied, and 
the life after, has its marked advantages. How- 
ever, if the opening picture is unattractive, the 



82 STORY COMPOSITION. 

writer will find it difficult to get sympathy for his 
heroic character. 

DANGER IN LOVE STORIES AND THE REMEDY. 

There are two dangers in love stories, mawkish 
sentimentality and exaggerated romance. To 
avoid these the student should write love stories of 
persons as far removed from his own condition in 
life as possible. The love story of Greenlanders 
will involve all the phases of sentiment manifest 
in affairs of the heart nearer home; but the distance 
and the strange conditions will occupy the atten- 
tion to a certain degree and prevent exaggeration 
of sentimentality. So the study of a love affair 
between two old country people would be too full 
of humors for sentimentality. As a variation upon 
this we may study the love between two poor 
children, a little bootblack and a little newsgirl. 

A GOOD EXERCISE. 

One of the most useful exercises that can be 
devised, and a very interesting and satisfactory 
one, is to study characters in the manner detailed 
in the chapter on "Characterization," and when we 
have realized the characters and become familiar 



STORY COMPOSITION. 83 

with them, to describe the love affair of the life of 
each. Grandfather had a love affair, so did grand- 
mother; that cross old maid had a love affair, that 
lovely little girl has not had one yet, but she will 
some day. Let the child be gifted with second 
sight, and looking into her future describe her own 
coming experience as it might seem to her childish 
mind. 

LOVE IN HISTORY. 

Another method of great value, for the study 
of character as well as of the love story, is to be- 
come familiar with the great personages of history, 
and then tell the story of their loves. Washington 
had a love story; so did Lincoln. Queen Elizabeth 
had several, and those of Mary Queen of Scots 
are famous. Did Joan of Arc have one, or Char- 
lotte Corday ? If history does not give the trivial 
details they should be invented, and all the varia- 
tions of feelings described. 

HOW TO WRITE ABOUT LOVE. 

The greatest difficulty which the student 
meets in the study of sentiment is in describing it. 
To tell the main outline of the story is dry and in- 



84 STORY COMPOSITION. 

effective; to enlarge upon the passion by direct 
description is equally vain. Sentiment is betrayed 
by scores of little nameless acts, words, gestures, 
expressions. One of the most valuable studies in 
human nature would be the details of a love story 
in which no words of affection are spoken and in 
which no overt acts take place. All is conveyed 
by the manner of speaking, the implications of ex- 
pression of face — eyes, mouth, brows, cheeks — 
showing how the unnamed feeling grows in casual 
daily intercourse, until the slightest act precipitates 
an explosion. Or the love may be an impossible 
one, that can never be expressed; or the lovers may 
be separated for years j ust at the critical moment. 

QUEER CHARACTERS IN LOVE. 

Another most interesting phase of the subject 
deals with those who fall in love with each other. It 
is not difficult to make a collection of strange cases of 
utterly unlike persons finding a mutual attraction. 
The cats' meat-man falls in love with the washer- 
woman: how does he manage it ? Colored old Aunt 
Susan is going to be married, and to a shiftless 
young nigger: why did she decide on such a course? 



STORY COMPOSITION. 85 

THE CAUSE OF LOVE. 

The explanation of attraction and repulsion 
has always been a closed mystery; but the best 
illustrations of the probable subtle causes which 
lead to union or disunion which has come in my 
way was given by an astrologer, who said that at 
the moment of birth the sun and moon and various 
planets whose light reached the earth, fixed in the 
brain of each person certain definite and various 
vibrations, like the vibrations of heat or light, or 
let us say like the various notes on a violin string. 
One person had a combination of vibrations of dif- 
ferent notes which made a chord, and another had 
another combination that made a different chord. 
Now if the combination of vibrations in one person 
harmonized with those in another, love ensued. 
The astrologer claimed that he could always pre- 
dict love or hate, for if the sun or moon in one 
nativity were on the place of the moon or sun in 
another, there would be two vibrations alike, and 
hence so much harmony. But if they were at va- 
riance there would be clashing. Now, quite apart 
from the truth of the astrologer's theory, any one 
may come to the conclusion that love is like some 
subtle harmony. We know that a variety of com- 



86 STORY COMPOSITION. 



binations of notes may produce a chord; and we 
know that a variety of human characteristics will 
seem to fit into each other. At the same time, cer- 
tain characteristics may produce harmony, while 
certain others produce discord. The harmony is the 
first to be perceived, — or it may be the discord, 
and the other develops after a time. 

lovers' quarrels. 

The phases of love, and the human nature 
that is brought out by it, should be studied in their 
discord as well as in their concord. Lovers' quar- 
rels are a prolific topic for fiction. Given your liv- 
ing, human characters, if they fall into love they 
are almost certain to fall out again on some occa- 
sion or for some reason. How did it happen ? If 
the repulsion was stronger than the attraction, the 
falling out was permanent; if the attraction were 
the stronger, nothing would prevent a reconcilia- 
tion. Lovers' quarrels are notoriously for trivial 
reasons. The explanation is found in the subtle 
discord of natures. The irritation is spontaneous, 
due to over-association, and an excuse is found in 
anything. Besides, love excites all sorts of fears 
and suspicions, which operate to the same end. 



STORY COMPOSITION. 87 

THE OPPOSITES OF LOVE. 

Jealousy and Hatred must be studied in the 
same connection, for they are the opposites. The 
fiercest love is frequently followed by the fiercest 
hatred. Jealousy is in a way the measure of love. 
If the affection of love is intense, and anything 
threatens it, or seems to threaten, the whole nature 
is roused to defend the affection. 

STUDY OF CHARACTER, ONLY TRUE BASIS FOR 
STORY-WRITING. 

The only safe and satisfactory way of writing 
stories of love or passion in any way is to base all 
such effort on a primary study of character. Get 
your characters. Study them in their habits at 
home, their relations with friends, their thoughts, 
ambitions, inclinations. Take time to make your- 
self thoroughly familiar with them. Know abso- 
lutely everything about them, as you know every- 
thing about your most intimate friend, or yourself. 
Then you can put them through the whole gamut of 
love, hate, jealousy, suspicion, pride, vanity, wa} r - 
wardness, generosity, self-sacrifice, with great pre- 
cision. In fiction everything is based on charac- 



88 STORY COMPOSITION. 

ter, and without that all such studies as that of the 
present chapter must be vain and profitless. More- 
over, only a great character is capable of great 
passions. To write an intense and dramatic love 
story, a preliminary study of at least one great 
character must be made. And against every great 
character, great difficulties, or other great char- 
acters, must be set. The greatest animal shows 
none of its strength until it comes into action, until 
it has something to oppose it and bring out its 
force. 

ADJUSTMENT OF MOTIVE. 

Moreover, the strong forces brought together 
in a story must be so well understood that their 
strength is nicely measured, and the hero is not 
made to lift a thousand pounds when a hundred is 
all that the circumstances require. When the 
force of motive is really mastered no one will do 
anything without a good reason for doing it, as is 
the case in actual life. And this is more than ever 
necessary when strong passions are brought into 
play. Then weak strings snap, and inadequate 
motive produces absurdity. Every effort must be 
nicely adjusted to the resistance offered. 



STORY COMPOSITION. 89 



IX. 
FANCY AND INVENTION. 

The faculty of invention in fiction, or fancy, 
or imagination, as it is variously denominated, has 
by long association been considered the leading es- 
sential. Modern tendences have, however, let im- 
aginative invention fall into decay in the pursuit 
of faithful realism. Romance, as it is more com- 
monly denominated now, stubbornly holds its 
ground nevertheless. The truth is that effective 
romantic invention must be based, in a way, on 
hard and fast realism. We must have our thorough 
knowledge of real conditions and characters in 
order to apply to them the yeast of invention. For 
instance, to try to write of the planet Mars even in 
the most fanciful and romantic way, without any 
basis of scientific knowledge, would be a failure. 
Chivalrous knights and the historic pageantry of 
Dumas's novels likewise must have their hard and 
vigorous knowledge of human character and motive, 
if not of medieval conditions. 



90 STORY COMPOSITION. 

WHAT WOULD YOU DO? 

The simplest and most practical study in in- 
vention is the reproduction of a modern Robinson 
Crusoe. The actual experiences of a man cast on 
a desert island are, by force of the ancient exam- 
ple of Defoe, bound to be thorougly practical and 
within the knowledge of every one. Every da}' life 
must be reproduced under novel and fascinating 
conditions. Of course the real story of greatest 
interest is that told in answer to the question, 
What would you do if cast on a lonely island ? An 
infinite number of details are called for, and a 
patient, painstaking observation of passing habits 
and resources is developed. 

NOVELS OF IMAGINATION. 

As a means of stimulating the imagination in 
this direction it is worth while reading some of the 
masterpieces of fiction, in which we may find a great 
variety of strange conditions. Captain Marry att's 
" Pacha of Many Tales" is a mine of wonderful 
invention. "Frankenstein" is a book of invention 
on quite different lines. Modern science is brought 
into service in the work of H. D. Wells, author of 



STORY COMPOSITION. 91 

" The Time-Machine," "Dr. Moreau," etc., and we 
all know Jnles Verne with his " Twenty Thousand 
Leagues Under the Sea." 

suppose! 

But pleasant fiction can be made for ourselves 
by the introduction of some supposition into our 
everyday life. Suppose one morning the sun did 
not rise. The strange confusion into which the 
world would be thrown might be described in a 
thousand different ways, and not one of us but would 
have as good a knowledge of the facts and condi- 
tions as any other. Again, suppose that the earth 
were struck by a comet and driven rapidty toward 
the sun. The increasing heat would drive every one 
toward the north and south poles. Arctic explora- 
tion would then no longer be surrounded by diffi- 
culty, and perhaps the polar regions would become 
a new America. Then if the earth returned to its 
original distance, or a greater distance, we can im- 
agine the freezing out of the arctic settlements, 
which would become embedded in ice, as Pompeii was 
in the ashes of Vesuvius; and perhaps hardy dis- 
coverers of the future would unearth them. 

In modern times science furnished the best 



92 STORY COMPOSITION. 

field for inventive imagination. We may describe 
the experiences also of a man under the sea, sup- 
posing that he could live under water like a fish; 
we may imagine the experiences of a man who was 
of microscopic size and lived on a tiny bubble of 
water. An interesting story has been told of a 
man who stole a diamond and by shaping it into a 
lens so that he could observe microscopic beings 
in a small hole in the center of it, beheld there a 
beautiful woman with whom he fell in love. In 
spite of all his frantic desire, he was obliged to 
watch the water drop dry up and the beautiful 
creature perish under his eyes without any power 
to assist her. Gulliver's Lilliputians were merely 
men and women of a small size. This one change 
of size produced a most fascinating effect on his 
satirical studies of life. 

But there are other methods of invention 
which involve the application only of actual and 
acknowledged principles. Suppose that you or I 
should invent an actual flying-machine; or sup- 
pose we took the traditional journey on the back 
of a condor : the narrative of the trip would be, or 
could be made, of intense interest. Suppose you 
were to fall heir to immense wealth : what would 



STORY COMPOSITION. 93 

you do with it ? Suppose a cipher locating a 
treasure were put in your Hands, like that which 
William Legrand found, in Poe's tale of " The 
Gold-bug": how would you set to work to find the 
treasure ? Suppose you were gifted with a magic 
tongue, a power of oratory : how, considering your 
present conditions, would you make it lead }^ou to 
fame? If you are a boy, what would you do if 
you were a girl ? If you are a girl, what would 
you do if you were a boy? Supposition of this 
sort might go on indefinitely. 

A FAMILIAR CHARACTER UNDER STRANGE 
CONDITIONS. 

In all these romances the essential thing is 
that we should have a very clear notion of the 
character that is to act under the strange condi- 
tions. If we do not understand human nature 
but merely invent at random, our imaginings 
will be vain and utterly uninteresting. To be 
interesting, half of our picture must be real in 
some way. 

It is not necessary that the character be nor- 
mal or merely commonplace, however. Our inven- 
tion may be applied to suppositions in character 



94 STORY COMPOSITION. 

itself. Suppose a person who has such a passion 
for giving away that he gives everything that he 
possesses or ever comes to possess : his dilemmas 
might make an extremely interesting story; and if 
you wanted a real example of such improvidence 
you might turn to the biography of Oliver Gold- 
smith. Exaggerate the love of money and you 
have the greedy miser, whose experiences and suf- 
ferings would be an admirable study in invention 
as well as in characterization. Suppose a man 
with an inveterate hatred of women : to what con- 
duct would it lead him ? Suppose a child with a 
heart of steel : what would happen if all the tender 
feelings were absent in a human being ? The narra- 
tive of a life of that sort would be worth writing. 

FANCY. 

There is another form of invention which 
deserves special study though it cannot very well 
be applied to the construction of a whole story. It 
is called fancy, and is the strange forms in 
which thoughts seem to crystalize. The fancies 
in smoke wreathes have been admirably developed 
in such books as Ik Marvel's " Reveries of a 
Bachelor" and J. M. Barrie's "My Lady Nicotine." 



STORY COMPOSITION. 95 

But the subject is still prolific. A little more uni- 
versal are the fancies suggested by the open fire, 
by the glow of sunset or sunrise, by the smooth, 
blue lake or the ocean, by the clouds in all their 
multiform shapes, by the stars. These objects 
rouse vague feelings which we endeavor to describe 
by figures of speech, fanciful inventions, a liberal 
use of expressive adjectives. There is much mean- 
ingless fine writing on topics of this sort, and these 
fanciful studies may also be looked on as a lesson 
in sentiment. To get something real, original, 
really interesting out of such topics should be the 
aim of the student, and he should go about it, not 
in an exalted mood, but quite in cold blood; or, if 
he must indulge the exalted mood, let the result- 
ing work be revised the next morning quite away 
from the glow and glitter, or the soft haze that 
conceals defects of hard and fast drawing. The 
same subject may be done over a number of times 
until it is done with spirit, and yet without senti- 
mental weakness. 

TO CULTIVATE THE IMAGINATION. 

Nothing so well repays systematic cultivation 
as the imagination. Natural endowment may be 



96 STORY COMPOSITION. 

something; but it is of far more value to learn by 
careful study the way to unite a cold observation 
of facts with the inventive faculty. The hard and 
cold half of the mixture is the more important, for, 
as a matter of fact, imaginary suppositions are 
chiefly intended to illustrate or bring out more 
clearly certain actual characteristics. In light 
fancy, no doubt, a certain side of our nature finds 
direct expression; but this expression is often 
more effective in its repression than in its expan- 
sion. 

VALUE OF REPRESSION. 

Here perhaps is the place to point out the 
value of repression and restraint, and where it is 
most needed. Exaggeration, exuberant fancy, 
prolific inventive imagination, are the proper 
means to make the commonplace and trivial inter- 
esting. But suppose we have for subjects great 
tragedies, terrific deeds, any of the large and fear- 
ful phases of nature or human nature : to make 
them effective we must employ the severest phrase- 
ology. Describe a murder in all its details : here 
enlargement, figures of speech, fancy and senti- 
ment, though so often used, weaken the effect. 



STORY COMPOSITION. 97 

Simple, cold, restrained statement is infinitely 
stronger. The whole effort should be turned 
toward leading the mind in middle courses, height- 
ening that which is low and common, toning down 
that which is originally cast in high lights. 

KNOW WHEN TO STOP. 

Moreover, at all times in order to use fancy 
and imaginative invention with effect, the writer 
must know when to stop, when to finish it and 
return to simple truth. This need is found in 
every figure of speech, every short paragraph illus- 
trating some sentiment, every description of 
beauty. Experience and practice alone will give 
this wide mastery. Fancy and imagination are 
the most effective weapons of the novelist, they are 
the element which makes his art so widely popu- 
lar; but for this very reason they deserve most 
study and exercise, both in their expansive 
enlargement and their restraint. 



m 




96 STORY COMPOSITION. 

something; but it is of far more value to learn by 
careful study the way to unite a cold observation 
of facts with the inventive faculty. The hard and 
cold half of the mixture is the more important, for, 
as a matter of fact, imaginary suppositions are 
chiefly intended to illustrate or bring out more 
clearly certain actual characteristics. In light 
fancy, no doubt, a certain side of our nature finds 
direct expression; but this expression is often 
more effective in its repression than in its expan- 
sion. 

VALUE OF REPRESSION. 

Here perhaps is the place to point out the 
value of repression and restraint, and where it is 
most needed. Exaggeration, exuberant fancy, 
prolific inventive imagination, are the proper 
means to make the commonplace and trivial inter- 
esting. But suppose we have for subjects great 
tragedies, terrific deeds, any of the large and fear- 
ful phases of nature or human nature : to make 
them effective we must employ the severest phrase- 
ology. Describe a murder in all its details : here 
enlargement, figures of speech, fancy and senti- 
ment, though so often used, weaken the effect. 



STORY COMPOSITION. 97 

Simple, cold, restrained statement is infinitely 
stronger. The whole effort should be turned 
toward leading the mind in middle courses, height- 
ening that which is low and common, toning down 
that which is originally cast in high lights. 

KNOW WHEN TO STOP. 

Moreover, at all times in order to use fancy 
and imaginative invention with effect, the writer 
must know when to stop, when to finish it and 
return to simple truth. This need is found in 
every figure of speech, every short paragraph illus- 
trating some sentiment, every description of 
beauty. Experience and practice alone will give 
this wide mastery. Fancy and imagination are 
the most effective weapons of the novelist, they are 
the element which makes his art so widely popu- 
lar; but for this very reason they deserve most 
study and exercise, both in their expansive 
enlargement and their restraint. 




98 STORY COMPOSITION. 

X. 
THE COMPLETE STORY. 

The long and assiduous practice on the various 
elements of story- writing is like the finger exercises 
for the piano. At the great European conservatories 
pupils are closely confined to simple finger exercises 
for two or more years, after which they are quickly 
put on to difficult classical music; the transition is 
easy. So in the training for writing fiction: the 
elements once mastered by long and careful prac- 
tice, the final results come inevitably. A genius 
at the piano is not made at a conservatory any 
more than a genius at novel-writing can be made 
by a course of training; but application in music 
or in writing will yield a certain proficiency in the 
expression of whatever of value the pupil may 
have. If his possession is little, the result will be 
accordingly little; if it is much it may not need 
training of this sort to bring it out. But every 
master goes through a course of training of some 
sort, usually a sort of blind hitting away until he 
strikes the successful note. 



STORY COMPOSITION. 99 

FICTION AS A UNIVERSAL EXERCISE IN 
COMPOSITION. 

It is not expected that pupils with whom these 
exercises are used will in any considerable number 
of cases become professional writers. This work 
has not been undertaken for this class. But a 
command of language for the practical purposes of 
life is of the utmost use to every man or woman, 
whether he be lawyer, minister or society woman, 
or in fact anything bringing him in contact with 
his fellow T men. The various classes of ideas devel- 
oped in fiction are such as we have occasion often - 
est to express, and to command them is to com- 
mand everything. 

But the scope and usefulness of the study is 
still broader. In this study we are trained to close 
observation of those features of life in general 
which we find of the greatest use in dealing prac- 
tically with our fellow men, with ourselves, and with 
the children we have to educate. The whole side 
of life of which fiction treats is represented only in 
fiction, and fiction alone affords a possible method 
of examining and studying it with any practical 
results. 



100 STORY COMPOSITION. 

PUTTING THE PARTS OF A STORY TOGETHER. 

Having finished onr finger exercises, we have 
yet one matter to consider, the drawing of a com- 
plete picture. It does not consist in deliberately 
putting together all the elements we have consid- 
ered so far. In fact, the first requisite is that we 
put out of our minds completely all the rules and 
principles we have ever learned, forget them, lose 
ourselves in our _ abject, and write by instinct, just 
as we dance by instinct without the help of the 
directions of the dancing-master, or play the piano 
by instinct, without thinking specifically of every 
note and the scientific phraseology connected with 
it. Moreover, we will find that description, narra- 
tion, dialogue, character-drawing, fancy, invention, 
etc., do not come in so many successive paragraphs, 
but all are inextricably blended, like the multiple 
colors in a painting, that produce new and quite 
unknown tints, tints such as no mixer of colors 
could ever produce. 

CHARACTER AND MOTIVE AT THE BASE OF ALL. 

And yet there is a certain method of procedure. 
At the basis and bottom of everything is a clear 



STORY COMPOSITION. 101 

conception of human beings, of all that goes to 
make up a man or woman. Character mastered, 
two thirds of the work of producing good fiction is 
accomplished. What is it that goes to make a 
man or woman? Features, color, manner, expres- 
sion, characteristics of mental action, of feeling, of 
passion. But these are not the essential things, 
the key. At the bottom of everything is the 
motive that controls the actions of each one of us. 
What makes a man do so and so? To know that 
gives the clew to all the subsidiary details. We 
know how to arrange the perspective of the story, 
the plot develops its thread, we are never in doubt 
how we shall proceed with our narrative. We 
have in our mind first of all certain events or 
strange facts. The direct object of the story is 
either to state them clearly so that the reader can 
form his own conclusion as to the explanation, or 
in some way to give the explanation, or to exhibit 
some knowledge of the actions of the human mind 
or feeling which we have learned. But we must in 
the whole construction of our story keep clearly in 
mind the real controlling motive. Was reason at 
the bottom of the case as stated? Here is a real 
story, a collection of curious facts. Some reasons 



102 STQRY COMPOSITION. 

made them what they are. The facts are so stated 
that the reader may form his own conclusion; or 
else a theory is developed at the end. Or perhaps 
we wish to exhibit the controlling motive of caprice, 
as in a wayward woman; or passion, as in a des- 
perate man; or the compelling force of poverty, or 
of greed, or perhaps the overshadowing effect of 
fate. But whatever we do, the power which makes 
the action, the fundamental cause of everything, is 
the essential thing, whether we state it, or imply it, 
or illustrate it by the development of the story. 

CONTRAST THE SECRET OF STRENGTH IN A STORY. 

Having mastered this element of essential 
motive, the next thing of importance is to make a 
vivid impression on the mind of the reader. The 
bare statement of the case is not enough; we want 
to drive it home to the reader's consciousness, so 
that he will see it all without the necessity of 
applying his mind too hard, for the average reader 
of fiction is at best but open-minded and indifferent. 
The great secret of strength is contrast. If we 
bring the two sides of the question into close con- 
tact, the effect is always strong. It shows that we 
know both sides of the subject, that we are masters 



STORY COMPOSITION. 103 

alike of day and night. To pass rapidly from one 
thing to another is no easy feat. The reader, in 
transferring his mind from one topic to exactly the 
opposite, comes to the second one something as a 
child wonld, for the sndden development of a new- 
line of action finds his mind in a very receptive 
mood. Besides, in bold contrasts there is something 
that always appeals powerfully to the mind; yet in 
the contrast there must also be somewhere a con- 
necting link. For instance, black ink on white 
paper is a perfect contrast; but it is not so effective 
as ink slightly brown, on paper of a softer tint than 
blue-white. The little brown in the paper forms a 
natural bridge with the little brown in the ink, and 
the eye is better satisfied. However sharp the con- 
trast in story-writing, it must not be meaninglessly 
abrupt. The sweeps and curves of rapid movement 
must bind the two sides together. 

THE BRIGHT SIDE OF LIFE. 

The young and uninitiated always incline to 
the dark and tragic side of life; but the public pre- 
fers bright and open pictures. Comedy is certainly 
easier to master than tragedy; but it is doubtful if 
the dark and terrible side of life has ever been 



104 STORY COMPOSITION. 

dealt with by an author who devoted himself ex- 
clusively to that. The best, almost the inevitably 
necessary, preparation for tragedy is comedy. 
Otherwise we have morbidity instead of strong, 
healthy analysis of the diseases of life. Darkness 
is disease; light is health. Disease may need its 
analyses, but they must be healthy, whatever their 
subject is. Certainly preparatory exercises such 
as we are here studying should be invariably of 
the light and bright order, and tragedy and mor- 
bidity should be striven against with all the force 
at the teacher's command; for the object to be 
attained is always health and light, and the young 
are not adapted to the task of gaining these ends 
by dealing with darkness and disease. 

There are, however, the neutral tints of his- 
tory, of simple narration of facts. Plain record is 
at the same time the easiest and most natural, and 
the most difficult in its possibilities. To get 
strength and vigor out of everyday statements re- 
quires a genius, though anybod}^ can deal with the 
common and plain without difficulty. But a mas- 
tery of the simple and direct should be the invari- 
able preparation for the tragic and dark. Both re- 
quire a profound knowledge of life. 



STORY COMPOSITION. 105 

CONCLUSION. 

The author of these exercises believes that the 
systematic study of fiction from the point of view 
of actually writing it is the best preparation for 
handling the English language effectively in what- 
ever direction the public has occasion for it, and 
that it is likewise the open door to thoughtful 
observation of those phases of life which are near- 
est and most important to us, and at the same time 
least understood. Moreover, it should be the best 
possible preparation for an intelligent understand- 
ing of all great literature. In reading great books 
we must create after the author his thoughts and 
conceptions. Why should we depend for this 
purely on our intuitions, and neglect all systematic 
study of those principles of creation which we must 
apply? - A beautiful picture is fully appreciated 
only by a connoisseur, and great music is followed 
with far greater intelligence by one who is at least 
an amateur performer himself, who understands an 
infinite number of details which the untrained 
listener misses altogether. 

But to be effective, all study must be sympa- 
thetic and systematic. To take up a study like 



106 STORY COMPOSITION. 

this for a few brief lessons, and in a skeptical mood 
at that, can by no possibility yield favorable results. 
The subject is too great. It certainly is as great 
as, if not greater than, the other arts, and we know 
what time is yearly given in all manner of schools 
to the piano, the voice, the violin, painting, sculp- 
ture, acting; and most of these receive some degree 
of attention even in our public schools: why not 
the universal literature of this age, fiction? 




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